


All These Versions of You

by Kansas42



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Alec Lightwood-centric, Angst, Bittersweet Ending, Character Study, Episode: s03e17 Heavenly Fire, Insecure Alec Lightwood, M/M, Magic Loss, Post-Episode: s03e17 Heavenly Fire, Protective Siblings, Sad Magnus Bane, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 10:23:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18467011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kansas42/pseuds/Kansas42
Summary: If there’s a problem, and there’s always a problem, usually at least 5--unless Clary and Jace are involved, in which case, more like 27--then Alec fixes it. He identifies the problem, and he makes it go away. That’s the job.Here’s the problem: Magnus is desperately unhappy without his magic.





	All These Versions of You

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for up to 3x17 and the 3x18 promo. (But not the sneak peeks. I don’t watch those.)

Years ago, he can’t remember how many, Izzy had been obsessed with mundane personality quizzes, forcing Alec to take them, too, and the more ridiculous, the better. Things like Who Is Your Celebrity Soulmate (he doesn’t know any of these people) and What Kind of Vegetable Are You (why would he want to know that) and What Color Are Your Eyes (mirrors exist for a reason, the quiz didn’t get the color right, and even if he had grey eyes, how would that prove he was “sensitive” and “soulful” anyway?)

Sometimes, Alec would play along. Being a big brother is two-parts responsibility, one-part indulgence: he’s always had to keep Izzy safe, always had to make sure she and Jace don’t break _too_ many rules, but also, who else would’ve helped Izzy study without pouncing on every tiny mistake, who else would’ve made her midnight pancakes if she was plagued by nightmares, who else would’ve let her just _play_ , if not for him? It’s always been his job to take care of his siblings, so he’d roll his eyes and put up a few token protests before letting Izzy paint his toenails or teach him about dead bodies or take ridiculous mundane quizzes. Usually.

 _Okay, Alec, describe your dream girl: is she A, rebellious and confident and never plays by the rules_. . .”

Other times, though, he would just shut down. 

Of course, Izzy would complain—complaining about Alec’s complete opposition to joy is one of her favorite activities, albeit one she engages in less now, since Magnus came into his life—but ultimately, she’d just shrug and fill in Alec’s answers for him. It still annoys him a little, how good she’s always been at knowing what he secretly wants. After all, at that age, his dream girl _had_ been rebellious and confident and never played by the rules . . . Izzy was just missing one small, very crucial piece of the puzzle.

He doesn’t know why he’s thinking about any of this now.

 _Are you a thinker? Or are you a doer_?

He can’t remember which quiz that had been, but he’d quickly decided he was a doer—and then, just as quickly, second-guessed his own answer, and then second-guessed his second-guessing. Izzy had taken one look at his face, snorted, and changed his response . . . but even she had hesitated, after a moment, tapping her finger thoughtfully.

“You’re a conundrum, big brother,” she’d said finally, which definitely hadn’t been one of the available options. He’d told her that was cheating. She’d stuck out her tongue.

For the life of him, Alec can’t remember which version of him they’d eventually settled on.

#

Alec is a doer.

If there’s a problem, and there’s always a problem, usually at least 5--unless Clary and Jace are involved, in which case, more like 27--then he fixes it. He identifies the problem, and he makes it go away. That’s the job.

Here’s the problem: Magnus is desperately unhappy without his magic.

This is on Alec. He should’ve realized before now, how miserable Magnus has secretly been, how much he’s been pretending for Alec’s benefit. He’s been treating Magnus’s moments of insecurity, of anxiety, as just that: moments, minor inconveniences, something to be easily remedied with a few kind words and a kiss. But then Magnus had said he felt like a stranger, like he didn’t matter without his magic; he’d actually stood there and admitted that magic might be worth dying for. And that’s just . . . inconceivable to Alec. He doesn’t understand it; he can’t understand it, but somehow, he has to fix it.

Magnus is depressed. That’s the problem.

Here’s the solution: Alec will propose and spend the rest of his life making Magnus as happy as Magnus has made him.

It’s a good solution; it makes sense. Almost losing Magnus like that . . . Alec cannot live; he absolutely cannot live without him, which he’s said before, but this . . . this will _show_ Magnus how much he means it, how important he is, how necessary, how very much he’s loved. It’s a big, sweeping, romantic gesture, the kind of thing Magnus adores, deserves, excels at. Alec, admittedly, isn’t as good at that sort of thing—he once tried to write Magnus a poem, and burning it before anyone saw is still the best decision he’s ever made--but this, this, he’ll make perfect. He has to.

Alec will propose, and Magnus will—hopefully, _hopefully_ —say yes, and he’ll see there’s so much still worth living for, a future they can build together.

Alec will propose, and things will be better.

Alec will propose, and the problem will go away.

#

Alec is a thinker.

He is not an overthinker, no matter what Izzy says. He’s not. He thinks . . . appropriately about any given situation. He is a planner. This Institute could use a few more planners: Lilith might still be in Edom if he could trust Clary or his siblings to stop mistaking a loose string of good intentions and terrible impulses for an actual plan.

Alec is going over every detail of his proposal for the 54th time that day.

It’s ten a.m.

He’s maybe overthinking things.

But he has to, he has to, because _this_ has to go perfectly. He knows Magnus loves him. He’s sure—he’s pretty sure—he’s almost sure—that Magnus will say yes. But Alec only gets one shot at this, and if he screws up the proposal, if it’s not momentous enough, not romantic enough, if the words come out stumbling and wrong like they always, always do . . . if Alec messes this night up, and Magnus is disappointed . . .

No. Magnus can’t be disappointed in tonight. He can’t be disappointed in _Alec_. Alec won’t let that happen.

He begins going over the plan again.

Jace says it won’t matter what Alec does or what he says. He insists that all Magnus will care about is getting to spend the rest of his life with the man that he loves. It’s unexpectedly sweet, and it’s comforting, and it’s something that Alec really needed to hear . . .

. . . but it’s not exactly an unbiased opinion. So, Alec keeps going over the plan because if he goes over it enough, he’ll get it right.

All he has to do is get this right, and everything will be fine.

#

Alec is an idiot.

That hadn’t been one of the options, but it should’ve been; it should’ve been the only option. He’d thought . . . but of course, he was wrong; of course, he wasn’t the solution. Magnus needs his magic, not an old, clunky ring. A proposal was never going to be enough. Alec was never going to be enough.

He’s not bitter about that, not angry. He’s just . . . lost. Helpless. Magnus needs his magic, and Alec doesn’t have any magic to give him.

Magnus is sobbing, and Alec has nothing to give him.

Eventually, he gets Magnus to bed. Sits there for a long time, watching him sleep, until he has to get up, has to move, has to get all that _helplessness-frustration-self-loathing_ out before he explodes. The training room is empty at this time of night. He attacks the punching bag until he can escape his own head, until he can’t think about anything but his burning lungs and split knuckles and aching wrists. He punches and keeps punching, going until the bag breaks, or his hands do.

His hands give way first. His fingers are slick with sweat and blood.

Alec doesn’t use an iratze, just washes up and applies bandages as someone approaches him from behind. It’s not Izzy, who would’ve started with a “by the angel” and ended with a lecture about the fragility of the human body. It’s not Jace, either, who must already be asleep; otherwise, he would’ve barged in by now, demanding to know what was wrong, and did Magnus say no, and who exactly did Jace need to kill, and so on. Jace’s love is fierce and unconditional and, occasionally, exhausting. Alec is grateful he doesn’t have to explain himself to either of his siblings right now.

“Wow. What did that punching bag do to you?”

Alec’s gratitude abruptly dissipates. 

“Why is the vampire still here?”

He’s asking no one in particular, or maybe Raziel, but Simon answers him, anyway. “Oh, I was up late with your sister.” 

Alec stares at him.

Simon’s eyes are huge. “I mean, uh, not like _that_ , not, there wasn’t any, please, please don’t kill me—"

“Stop talking,” Alec says, rubbing his temples.

Simon does that for exactly four seconds. Then he launches into a rambling monologue about his undercover mission, how he can’t get Heavenly Fire out of his head, and would he have been grateful, like Raphael, or bitter, like Iris, and he isn’t sure, can’t decide, but it’s made him really realize what Magnus has lost, and how glad he is that Magnus has Alec to watch out for him, to be his rock, to keep him away from any bridges—

Alec—can’t breathe, suddenly.

“Oh, man. Oh, man, you didn’t—he didn’t tell you, you didn’t know he’d—I mean, it’s all in the past, right, I’m sure he’s not—”

“Stop. Talking.”

Alec has to sit down.

Simon doesn’t stop talking, but Alec just ignores him until, eventually, he goes away. It’s easy enough to do: Alec’s thoughts are louder than everything, except for maybe his own heartbeat.

 _You don’t have to explain yourself. I’ve been through it myself_.

 _What I’m feeling now, it may never pass, for as long as I live_.

 _Is it really worth dying over?  
Maybe_.

No. No. That can’t happen. Alec has to fix this. He has to before . . . before . . .

But that’s the problem: Alec isn’t enough. Magnus is desperately unhappy without his magic, might be suicidal without his magic, and Alec isn’t enough.

Magnus might, Magnus could . . .

Alec _can’t_ \--

Anything. Alec can’t do anything. He can’t live without Magnus. He can’t give him what he needs. He can’t bring Magnus’s magic back . . .

. . . unless . . .

Here is the solution: Alec goes to Asmodeus and gets Magnus’s magic back.

It’s the only way.

Alec is a doer. He does what needs to be done, so Alec is going to do this—

But he’s a thinker, too.

Asmodeus will try to trick him. He’ll somehow try to escape. He’ll ask a high price that Alec won’t want to pay. Alec has to do this safely, with no risk to civilians. He has to consider every angle, every ploy, every possibility. He needs to decide exactly what he can afford and what he cannot, so if Asmodeus _does_ surprise Alec, he’ll have ground rules. He’ll have a plan.

If the cost is Alec’s family, he can’t do it.

If the cost is innocent lives, he can’t do it.

If the cost is Alec’s life . . . well.

Alec needs to save Magnus. Some prices, he’s willing to pay.

#

Alec is a doer. Alec is a thinker. Alec is, sometimes, an idiot. Most of all, though, Alec is a Lightwood. 

And Lightwoods, there’s always something they can do. No matter how bleak things seem, how dark everything gets, Lightwoods break noses and accept the consequences.

No reason they can’t break hearts, too.

After it happens, after it’s over, Izzy finds Alec in his bedroom, sitting on the floor and clutching the omamori charm Magnus left behind. “Oh, Alec . . .”

“Don’t,” he says, closing his eyes. “Just don’t.”

But Izzy’s a Lightwood, too, and she’s always known what he secretly wants.

“We’ll fix this, big brother,” she says, and lets him cry into her shoulder.

-FIN

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that started forming in my head after Alec told Maryse he was going to propose, and I was like, “Oh, my sweet, summer child, no.” But just in case it isn’t clear--and before I get a flood of angry comments--I don’t actually think Alec is an idiot. He just has spectacularly poor timing, and isn’t always kind to himself.
> 
> Also, here’s to hoping Shadowhunters subverts expectations by having Magnus get super sad for half a minute before figuring out what’s really going on, rather than extending this particular “I’m giving you up to save you” angst into the finale. (My optimism here is limited, but still, I hope.)


End file.
